Alone
by HermyCaz
Summary: Update from 'Running Alone' Just a bit of speech, I tried to edit the last but it didn't work...so here it is...I'n a shiny new format : *Contains Self-Harming*


He's running. But what is he running from exactly? He thinks that running away will make all the pain disappear, but it wont. It just makes it worse.

It's cold. The air is freezing, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything anymore. He's running. Running from everything; from everyone. He's running so fast that the cold wind is piercing though and freezing him inside, freezing his heart; the pain is almost unbearable, shattering his emotions like a mirror being smashed for a second time.

Something shines in the soft snow, and he stops to pick it up. Running a finger over the sharp object he scrapes off the snow, he holds it in his hand and twists it in his fingers. His hands are shaking as he puts the glass to his arm, thinking; will physical pain hurt less than the pain he is feeling now. He shakes his head, his long ebony hair flowing slightly, and puts the glass in his pocket.

He shivers, and as soon as he starts running again he can feel the cold pain in his chest. The snow crunches loudly beneath his feet, and the wind whistles softly as if trying to comfort him from his torture; but it's cold and piercing, what sort of comfort it that?

He doesn't know how long he's been running for, it must have been a while because its getting dark. The birds are calling in the distance, and their calls echo through the sky. His legs and throat are burning from the way he's running so fast and his breathing starts to get quicker, coming out in gasps, soft white wisps entering the air. His running starts to slow and soon he is just walking, shaking in the cold. He stops and looks around; no one is there.

He is alone.

He takes the shard of glass from his pocket that he found earlier in the snow; raising a shaking hand he pulls his sleeve up and presses the point onto his right forearm. Pressing harder, he draws lines across the skin, leaving intricate spaces between the four scratches. He is immediately rewarded with a searing pain as the blood pours out. He screams silently as his arm stings and burns in the cold air.

Falling to his knees in the ground, his hands sink in the snow. His arms are shaking against the pain as blood flows down his arm from each of the scratches, creating waves of crimson in the pure white snow.

He screams in agony from the pain, although it's not the pain in his arm he is feeling anymore; it's the pain in his throat and chest, burning and filling him up, ready to explode like a volcano. He tries to swallow past the burning in his throat and holds back the tears forming in his eyes. He can't cry.

No.

He won't cry.

The snow is now falling heavily around him, ice cold flakes fall onto his arm and into the scratches, stinging; causing him more pain. The snowflakes cover his body, falling into his hair, making it look like stars twinkling in a jet black sky. The waves of blood are now disappearing in the snow as the flakes are falling so heavily.

Frozen wind is causing him to shiver, and by now he can't help but let the tears fall. They stream down his face, like a river meandering through an open cave; first hot then freezing on his face. His mascara is staining his tears, causing black tracks to run down his face; he only wears it to isolate himself, all that his friends have noticed, how much he's distancing himself from people, hoping they wont find out how much sadness he's feeling inside, how much pain he is in. He's crying so hard now that his shaking is almost from his sobs more than the snow, the wind is bitter though. He whispers his brother's name softly as he sobs openly in the snow; as if calling his name would bring him back. He can't believe he's gone.

Gone.

Forever.

And there is no one.

No one is there to see him cry.

He is alone.

The snow is starting to slow, and he is still crying; he's letting go, letting all the pain wash out. His hair is falling over his face, but he ignores it. He can't even hear the footsteps crunching in the snow behind him, he is unaware of anyone being there until he feels a hand on his back.

He doesn't move or turn his head, but he is still shaking. He senses as someone else kneels down in front of him and gently pushes the hair from his eyes. Even though they know, and they will understand, he still doesn't want his friends to see him cry. He turns his face away, the gentle hand softly stokes his hair, as they have noticed the slight, black tear tracks on their friend's face.

They hold out a hand, and he hesitates to take it; the other hand is rubbing comforting circles along his back, and he finally accepts the one that wants to help him up. He can sense another standing to the side of him, offering words of comfort; but they can't do much to help, because his brother is gone, and no one can bring him back.

They pull him to his feet, and he slowly sways on the spot. He starts to fall again, but they catch him. Three pairs of arms holding him tightly, as he brakes downs again; the tears coming forth, flooding down his face. His whole body is shaking against the force of his sobs and he tries to resist the embrace, but they only hold him tighter.

"It'll be okay" they whisper softly, "Everything will be okay"

"No" he says, "No; he's gone. No!" he pulls away, "No, let me go. NO!"

They only pull him closer into the warm comfort of their arms.

"No. Please. Let me go"

They release him gently, but stand close not wanting him to run away again.

"Gone," he repeats like before, "he's gone" he tries to regain control, but the tears are still falling slowly and his breathing is shallow. He is still shaking against the cold and one of his friends covers his shoulders with a jacket, its warm and comforting. He finally collapses in their arms, sobbing and shattering against them.

He didn't think he had any friends, but they are there. When something bad happens, they are there. Just like they were before.


End file.
